


don't you fall

by madanach



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madanach/pseuds/madanach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basti stops him with a hand on his chest, smiling up apologetically. “I have to play tomorrow,” he says, tracing lightly up and down his spine.</p><p>Lukas pauses, then nods and kisses him again, brushes his palm against the vaguest hint of stubble at the hinge of Basti’s jaw, lists to the side. Basti wiggles his fingers behind Lukas’ back, his elbow trapped between him and the bed. Lukas lets his head fall onto the pillow.</p><p>“I don’t,” he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't you fall

**Author's Note:**

> yoooooooo so i swear to god i intended to post some götzeus before writing more dumb schweinski porn but apparently i have even less self-control than i originally thought
> 
> anyWAY this is lukas bottoming for the first time aka effectively virginity fic so that might not be your scene, i want anyone w triggers to take care of themselves first and foremost :*
> 
> i always love to hear critiques/feedback from you guys btw so if you wanna leave a comment or say hi on tumblr (madanach) feel free!

“Bullshit.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No way Pep collects stamps. No fucking way.”

“Swear to God it’s true.”

Lukas narrows his eyes, points his fork at Basti accusingly. “You’re full of shit. Spoons I could get behind, or shot glasses, or something. Stamps, absolutely not.”

“You think Pep Guardiola collects spoons?” Basti says incredulously. “And I’m the one who’s full of shit?”

“Exactly,” Lukas says solemnly. “Open wide.”

“No, dude, I’m so scared of your cooking.”

“If Louis can eat it, so can you. Grow a pair.”

“We were talking about your _son_ ,” Basti says petulantly, but opens his mouth obediently. Lukas smiles as he gulps down a forkful of half-grilled, strangely-sauteed chicken and then wrinkles his nose.

“Oh, come on!”

Basti grins. “I’m joking. It’s not bad, actually.”

“YES,” Lukas crows, and then, “I told you, asshole.”

“At least, it wouldn’t have been if you had remembered to put the sauce in."

Lukas curses loudly and dashes over to the stove, where the chicken is sizzling lightly and the sauce sits on the counter, untouched.

“It’ll ruin it if you put it in now,” Basti offers.

“You are enjoying this too much,” Lukas says, spears the chicken glumly with his fork and throws it onto the plate.

“Yeah, I am,” Basti says, but he comes and gets himself a plate anyway, snags a bottle of beer on their way to the living room. They pile onto the couch, Lukas with his legs on the coffee table and Basti with his pulled underneath him, and turn on the TV, first channel they reach just happening to play the highlights of Bayern’s latest game.

“Hmm,” Lukas says as TV-Basti passes straight to the opposing team. “Well, we can’t all be Cologne.”

“You wish,” Basti says, leans over and steals a piece of Lukas’ chicken.

Lukas’ face lights up. “You like it.”

“Absolutely not,” Basti says, mouth full. 

“Awesome,” Lukas grins. Basti stares at Lukas’ annoyingly cheerful face for a stupidly long time, finally groans and concedes defeat.

“It’s not bad,” he says. Lukas raises an eyebrow. “It’s pretty good.”

“YES,” Lukas says in exactly the same tone he did before. Basti sighs loudly, throws his empty plate onto the coffee table where it clatters to a halt.

“Smug bastard,” Basti says, and then sits up and kisses him.

Lukas recieves him gladly, opens his teeth to Basti’s roaming tongue and snorts when Basti fists a hand in his shirt trying to haul him closer. “We can go upstairs,” he offers.

“It’s my house,” Basti says indignantly, but takes his hand. “Turn the TV off.”

They make it halfway up the stairs before they’re necking like teenagers in the corner, and Basti is hilariously glad he lives alone when Lukas’ hands fall to his ass. He sighs, pushes backwards into Lukas’ palms and bites the smile off Lukas’ lips.

“Alright, bedroom,” Lukas says after a minute, even though Basti would be pretty content to have Lukas grope him and leave bruises on his neck for as long as physically possible. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Basti says, gets his hand on Lukas’ back and pushes him up the stairs. Lukas finds Basti’s bedroom easily, ignores the lightswitch in favor of the sun still leaking through the wide windows. Basti leans in the doorway, considers him.

“You coming?” 

Basti nods, and when Lukas moves up the bed crawls to meet him, catches his mouth and bites into it. Lukas’ hands wrap around Basti’s waist instictively, and he arches up half-heartedly when Basti falls into him. 

Basti hums, ignores the temptation to move in favor of kissing Lukas languidly, enjoying the feel of broad arms holding him tight. It’s one of his favorite things about Lukas, how easily their bodies fit together — well, it’s one of many favorite things.

Lukas pushes him to the side and straddles him, trails kisses from his lips to his ear to his —

“Fuck,” Basti says suddenly, right as Lukas goes for the soft skin of his throat. Basti stops him with a hand on his chest, smiling up apologetically. “I have to play tomorrow,” he says, tracing lightly up and down his spine.

Lukas pauses, then nods and kisses him again, brushes his palm against the vaguest hint of stubble at the hinge of Basti’s jaw, then lists to the side. Basti wiggles his fingers behind Lukas’ back, his elbow trapped between him and the bed. Lukas lets his head fall onto the pillow.

“I don’t,” he says, studying Basti’s expression. Basti raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

Lukas lets the word hang in the air. Basti’s comprehension is a simple matter of time. 

“That’s a shit idea,” says Basti. “You have practice when you get back.”

“I get back in four days.”

Basti opens his mouth to speak, closes it when he can find no better objection. Lukas’ knees knock against his calf, twisted on his side like he’s under the blankets in winter. Basti tugs his hand out from under him and brings it to Lukas’ lips.

Lukas closes his eyes, bites the knuckle of Basti’s ring finger. With a sigh, Basti closes the distance.

He pays close attention to the feel of Lukas under him, the soft press of his chest when he breathes, the span of his hands across Basti’s back. Lukas kisses quick and hard and it’s Basti who has to pull back, trail his teeth, the tip of his tongue to Lukas’ ear, nipping the lobe and smiling when Lukas chuckles, still catching his breath. 

Lukas kneads at his shoulderblades restlessly, tugging at the hem of Basti’s shirt. They move against each other but Basti restrains himself from grinding down. He doesn’t want to rush.

He has questionable memories of his first time, 18 or 19 and horny as all hell, seeking out a dirty bathroom in a smoky club where no one yet knew his name when he realized girls just weren’t cutting it. The guy was older and not unkind but Basti remembers his hiss of frustration when Basti gritted out _go slow_ , a dick much different than fingers no matter how much lube he had prepped with. He found a rhythm, though, and the guy whispered _so tight, oh fuck, that’s good_ into his neck, and Basti growled when he finally grazed his prostate. He came so hard he saw stars and the guy leaned down to kiss him before leaving the stall, so he waddled home and ran a warm bath and imagined someone who knew his name whispering it into his back, slid a finger inside himself even as the bruises from earlier radiated up his spine. 

It was an addiction of sorts, a year or so in clubs and later with an assortment of half-friends who swore on their mother’s name not to tell, and then he left it behind for his career’s sake. He told himself it was for the best and distracted himself with the things he loved about girls, soft curves and cheeky frankness and not being afraid to wake up next to him. He dated a couple and fell in love with more, fell out of love just as quickly, treasured the ones who stayed when he said _put in a finger in me, babe, it’ll help me get off, I swear_. 

Lukas was the exception. He’d always been, since the first night they shared a room during international break, scared and bright-eyed. Basti threw himself into their friendship with wild abandon and Lukas gave as good as he got at every turn, grinning wider, laughing louder, holding tighter any time he got the chance. 

They talked well into the night when they saw each other and woke each other in the wee hours of the morning when they didn’t, claiming _I had to get up, you were gonna sleep through your alarm anyway, come on, bastard, entertain me_. Basti fell into love with the fury of the young, and as he aged he wondered when he would grow out of Lukas, when his heart would catch up with his head — with the part telling him Lukas was too good to be true. 

They weren’t fucking and Lukas was too good to be true. They were called up for their second World Cup and Lukas hugged him at the airport and was too good to be true, giggled into his ear during group stages and was too good to be true, ran a shaking hand up his spine before the game against Spain and was too good to be true. 

When Lukas pushed inside him for the first time he marveled at how _simple_ it was, finally understood all that fuss about belief.

He bats away the lingering memories, concentrates on the hitch he can hear in Lukas’ breath. Lukas tugs at his shirt again so Basti sits up, back on Lukas’ thighs and shucks it off, throws it in a corner. Lukas does the same with his after Basti flicks at the hem. He gets a familiar feeling of trespassing when his eyes catch Lukas’ tattoo, reassures himself that he’s there because Lukas wants him to be. Lukas squeezes his knee.

“You have lube?” he asks. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Basti says, crawls up toward the bedside table and rummages around the drawer while Lukas bites his calf through his jeans because Basti’s legs are bracketing his head and he’s a shit at the best of times. Basti ignores his impudence, throws the lube and a condom on the bed next to them and moves back to kiss the breath out of him. Lukas’ skin burns and Basti warms his hands in the crook of his neck, sticks them under Lukas’ back like Lukas doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

“Buy a heater, you moron,” Lukas laughs, breaking the kiss.

“I own a heater,” Basti says, “I’m mega rich, who do you take me for,” slides his hands lower to cup Lukas’ ass. Lukas hums into his mouth.

He moves lower, first to Lukas’ neck, then his shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. Pausing with his lips only lightly grazing Lukas’ collarbone, he asks a question with a raised eyebrow, and at Lukas’ nod - _leave marks_ \- he sets out to suck bruises into his skin. The visibility spells trouble at home, but Basti puts it out of his mind; if Lukas wants to tell, he’ll say.

He spends as much time as his wandering mind will allow peppering Lukas’ skin with kisses, but after Basti bites his nipple Lukas lets out a groan of frustration and arches up. Basti grins and does it again, then braces his forehead against Lukas’ heaving chest so he can see the zipper of his jeans.

“About damn time,” Lukas says, curling a hand around the back of Basti’s neck. He lifts up his hips, lets Basti pull off his pants, boxers following soon after. He’s hard and flushed and bucks into Basti’s hand the minute he takes hold of him.

Basti strokes him languidly, steadies himself between Lukas’ legs and lets one finger trail back farther. When he brushes the pucker of muscle Lukas tenses and then visibly forces himself to relax again, patting Basti’s head in silent apology. 

Basti surges up, catches Lukas’ bottom lip in his teeth and then licks into his mouth, presses him into the mattress, Lukas’ hands dropping to his ass. “It’s easier if you turn over,” he says between kisses, “but we can do it however you want.”

“That’s fine,” Lukas replies, voice low, “You gotta take off your fucking pants, though, ‘cause if you have to stop when any part of you is in me-“

“Shit, Lukas,” Basti says, “Alright, yeah, alright.”

He falls to the side and pulls off his jeans, and then Lukas is rolling into him, letting Basti get a quick arm around his waist and squeeze before settling to lie on his chest. The planes of his back are exposed to the air and Basti’s eyes follow his spine downwards, nape of his neck to his shoulderblades to the dips of muscle over his ass. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and means it. 

Lukas smiles lazily, says, “What are you waiting for?”

It’s enough for Basti. He darts in, kisses Lukas quick on the lips and then snatches the lube up from beside them, leans over Lukas with a leg between his knees.  Lukas rolls his hips down into the mattress, chuckles when Basti sucks in a breath.

“Killing me already,” Basti says, flips open the cap and lets lube spill over his fingers. Basti watches carefully for signs of discomfort, but once he gets his slick fingers near Lukas’ ass Lukas just arches his back in encouragement, sighing softly when the first one slips in. Basti presses a kiss to his shoulder, waits patiently for Lukas to adjust.

When Lukas spreads his legs wider and twists his head to the side, Basti takes the hint. One finger steadily working inside him, he presses his mouth to Lukas’ cheek and says, “You do this on your own?”

Lukas groans, presses his hips back, nods in affirmation. “All the fucking time. Think of you, the way you look under me.” He has to focus to get the words out. Basti pushes a second finger in.

Lukas hisses something sharp in Polish, his shoulders tensing up, and Basti stills his movements long enough to let Lukas catch his breath. “Your hands are bigger than mine,” Lukas says shakily, and then, “Keep going.”

“Alright,” Basti breathes against Lukas’ back, going as slow as he can, remembering the guarded panic of club bathrooms before the pain started feeling good. He hasn’t prepped someone else in God knows how long; he stopped sleeping with other men after his first night with Lukas and was never much for topping anyway, but seeing Lukas’ back heave underneath him, feeling Lukas twitch against his chest when he crooks his fingers — that’s enough to make him reconsider. He presses his face into Lukas’ shoulder, wraps the hand that he’s not using to scissor him open around his own aching dick.

“How many fingers,” Basti says tightly, “when you’re alone?” He crooks one and Lukas bucks up, Basti’s teeth finding his jaw and biting.

“Two,” Lukas says, breathing harshly, pressing his forehead down. Basti nods tightly, stops stroking himself — suppressing a whine in the process — to run a hand up Lukas’ arm, find it under the pillows and link their fingers together. Lukas grips back just as tight, lower muscles clenching around Basti’s fingers and Basti has the vivid image of Lukas back in London, flushed and glorious on top of the sheets, two fingers inside himself and moaning Basti’s name.

“You kill me,” Basti repeats, works a third finger in just as Lukas twists back for a kiss. Lukas breathes into Basti’s lips and then his mouth snaps shut; Basti sees the muscles in his jaw tighten.

“Fuck,” he grits out, pushes his head back against the mattress, trying to steady his breath. Basti runs a hand up and down his arm soothingly, pressing his nose to the hollow under his skull and breathing him in. Lukas smells like soap and sweat, the detergent he washes his clothes with and, somewhere under it all, Basti’s cologne, lingering from their hug at the door or their shoves on the staircase or Basti’s hand on his neck while he cooked and God, how hard does Lukas have to try to wash off his scent?

“Luki,” Basti gasps, “Can I-”

Lukas nods but he’s still bracing himself against the bed, his entire body coiled and taut. Basti shakes his head, whispers _we can’t if you’re like that_ into Lukas’ spine. Lukas groans and spreads his legs wider, thrusts weakly into the mattress, and Basti gets a hand underneath him to help, working him with long, languid strokes that he knows will make him sigh. Sure enough, Lukas makes a small noise in his throat, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Basti smiles, kisses the skin under his ear before slowly starting to move. 

He curls his fingers downward and Lukas chokes, arches back with his head on Basti’s shoulder, gasps, “Shit, do that again.” Basti kisses him best he can with the awkward angle and obliges, the feeling when Lukas’ mouth goes slack almost too much to bear. He _wants_ to be in him, with that overwhelming category of want reserved just for when they’re in bed together; he wants to cover Lukas’ body with his own and fuck him until the only word he knows is _Lukas_ , until the only word Lukas knows is _Basti_ , and God, he thinks as he steadies Lukas’ hips with his hand, feels him buck up, he never wants to let him fucking go.

He has to, though, unfortunately, because the condom is still sitting on the sheets next to them and Basti thinks if he doesn’t do something about how incredibly hard he is soon he’s going to lose it. “I’m gonna get the condom,” he warns Lukas, carefully slipping his fingers out. 

Lukas bucks his hips, says, “Damn it, fuck you, Basti,” with his face smashed into the pillows. Basti rips the condom open with his teeth, rolls it on, suppressing a sharp breath, and leans back over Lukas, both hands covering his own.

“Nah,” Basti says, “You already forget? Today I get to fuck you.”

Lukas arches his neck, says, “Put your money where your mouth is, big boy.”

Basti grins into Lukas’ shoulder. He finds the lube where it fell near their knees and squeezes some out quickly, slicking himself up; he doesn’t think he can have Lukas like this, this close, much longer.

When he lines himself up, though, tip of his cock just barely grazing Lukas’ hole, Lukas twists his head to the side, breathes out, “Basti,” and Basti leans to the side to catch his eye. It’s almost comical, in the strange way of sex, Lukas turned around with his cheek pressed into the mattress, but something in Basti’s chest blooms at the sight.

“Go slow,” Lukas says softly. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Basti says, heart unbearably full. “Just tell me when.”

“Now,” Lukas says, and then laughs quietly, the way he does when he’s nervous. Basti spreads a hand flat over his back — he looks so pale next to him, scarred and imperfect over the smooth expanse of Lukas’ skin, but Lukas says he loves his hands — and takes a deep breath, guides Lukas’ hips back to his, pushes in.

It’s only the tip but Lukas makes a noise somewhere low in his throat, going rigid under Basti’s chest. Basti whispers reassurances into his neck but forces himself to stay still, let Lukas get used to the feeling even though the sensation of being _inside_ Lukas is already more than he can handle. Lukas breathes out harshly; he presses his lips to Basti’s temple and moves his hips slightly, pulls his arms back to hold himself up better, says, “Now.”

Basti braces himself with one hand under Lukas, one hand on his hip, and pushes in a little bit further. He doesn’t want to rush it, wants to let all the nerves and fear he sees in the set of Lukas’ shoulders bleed out before thinking of himself, but — fuck, Lukas feels so _good_ , and he never realized with the others how much the curve of a spine can look like an offering, but, well. He never realized a lot of things with the others.

“Now,” Lukas says again, grabs the hand Basti isn’t using to keep himself up and pulls it around his waist. Basti holds him as tight as he can and slowly, slowly bottoms out.

It’s a new breed of torture. Lukas is hot and unbelievably tight and Basti sees spots when he closes his eyes, follows Lukas as he sinks down onto the mattress and drinks it in.

He laughs shakily, presses his forehead to the back of Lukas’ head. “Is this what it feels like when I’m —“

“Yes,” Lukas interrupts him, voice cracking on the word. “God, yes, Basti, you have no idea —“

“I do now,” Basti says. Lukas twists back to kiss him, eyes shut tight and breathing still unsteady, and Basti feels like he could burst.

“Basti?” Lukas asks, seconds that feel like lifetimes later.

“Yeah?”

“Now.”

And so Basti pulls out, just enough for Lukas to suck in a sharp breath, and then pushes back in. Lukas’ knuckles are white, balled into fists and holding the sheets by his head; Basti checks his balance, then covers Lukas’ hands with his own, gently pulls them closer to his shoulders.

“They’ll get less sore,” he says by way of explanation, dropping kisses to Lukas’ ear as he speaks. Lukas smiles sheepishly, then closes his eyes, sighing as Basti noses under his jaw.

“Keep going,” he says. Basti feels the vibration of his speech against his cheek.

Basti pulls out again, and now Lukas is more receptive, tilting his hips up and making soft sounds, little _oh_ ’s and _ah_ ’s that steal any capacity for rational thought Basti had left. Basti bites the soft skin under Lukas’ jaw, groans when he bares his neck. 

“Shit, Lukas,” he says, and reaches down to grasp Lukas’ cock; Lukas honest-to-God shudders, pushes forward into his hand, and —

“Fuck,” Lukas gasps loudly, entire body arching up into Basti’s weight.

Basti smiles in recognition, angles his hips and thrusts.

“Shit, shit, that’s good,” Lukas babbles into the mattress. “Basti, that’s so good.”

“That’s what you do to me,” Basti says in his ear even as he builds up a steady rhythm, and he guesses he must be doing something right because Lukas is thrusting forwards and backwards in turn, into Basti’s hand or Basti’s cock and breathing ragged in Basti’s ear. Basti picks up the pace, not wanting to orgasm until Lukas has already come but desperate, always desperate. He wants to hear Lukas say his name again.

“More,” Lukas says instead, and Basti pulls out as far as he can go and then pushes all the way in, legs unsteady but holding Lukas tight. Lukas cries out, smashes his forehead into the mattress, and when Basti brushes his thumb over the slit comes hot into Basti’s hand.

“Fuck, fuck,” Basti says, still thrusting forward, and Lukas, cheek smushed into the bed, twists to catch his eye, smiles like the sun and says, “Basti.”

He comes almost silently, shuddering against Lukas’ back. Lukas kisses him through it as he shivers and goes boneless.

He lies there long enough for the nerves sparking up his spine to start to ache, Lukas’ warm breathing and sweaty back beneath him, and then groans loudly, pulls out as Lukas winces, rolls to the side.

“Fuck,” he says. He pulls the condom off and ties it, crawls to the end of the bed to dump it in the trash and then crawls back to where Lukas lies, unmoving.

 _Are you okay?_ seems like a stupid question, considering that if Lukas is he just needs more time to collect himself, and that if he isn’t Basti might as well throw himself out the window right now, but he asks it anyway, touches Lukas’ back with a careful hand.

“Yes,” Lukas says into the mattress, and then raises his head. “Fuck yes, Basti, that was,” he shakes his head, “ _Fuck_ , Basti.”

“Good,” Basti says, stupidly pleased with himself.

Lukas smiles happily, kisses him sweet as can be before hauling himself out of the bed. 

“Shit, you were right,” he calls as he walks gingerly into the bathroom. “One day would not be enough.”

“Told you,” Basti replies, watching the spot where Lukas disappeared. He gathers all the pillows around him, burrows into the blankets on the side where it’s marginally colder but there aren’t any come stains.

The toilet flushes, water runs for a second and then Lukas says, “Oh, shit, Basti, look what you did.”

“What?” Basti sits up. Lukas comes out of the bathroom, gloriously naked, and lifts up his chin so Basti can see the hickeys that color half his neck.

“Oh, that,” Basti says.

“Unrepetant, I knew it,” Lukas says, pointing an accusing finger, and then crawls back onto the bed with a groan. He fights his way under the covers, kisses Basti briefly and slings one leg over his thigh, one arm over his chest. Basti hums appreciatively, sinks further down to share the warmth.

“Buy a fucking heater,” Lukas tells him again, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is dedicated to the terrible people who enable me on tumblr YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE


End file.
